


Yellow

by extremesoft



Category: Formula 1 RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: 2019 F1 season, Anal Sex, M/M, PWP, Quickies, Shameless Smut, great!, honestly that's about it, it's 3 and 33 back at it again, just a quickie with vague feels, nothing more to it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 04:47:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18358913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extremesoft/pseuds/extremesoft
Summary: Daniel is about to shamelessly use Max for a fleeting, restless shag in the shadows, as only a moment's relief in the middle of a stress-packed race weekend, a discardable outlet for nothing much, and nothing could sound more beautiful in Max's ears.





	Yellow

**Author's Note:**

> Oooohhhh something shiny and new~ Writing this felt like doing a (fun!) writing exercise, with the given topic being something like "Insignificant porn from the point of view of you being a bit stressed" :'D
> 
> As stated in the tags: this particular piece has less plot than a cereal commercial. Honestly, cross my heart and spank me blue. If you're looking for something with a carefully crafted storyline and full of sizzling character development, I suggest you watch the bloody cereal commercial rather than read this :'D This stems from nothing else than me wanting to vent my persistent work-related frustration by writing some fuckery, and a couple of excellent pieces I read on Tuesday (by lost_decade and an anonymous creator, thank you both very much in case you decide to stumble upon this!) that inspired me greatly and made me want to create something dirty.
> 
> All that being said, however: I just sincerely, humbly hope that you, whoever you might be that ends up reading this, enjoy this. Let me know if you do! :) Oh, and also: the title is NOT stolen from the Coldplay song "Yellow" :'D

It’s the same and it’s different once they get to Bahrain, as if they had truly seen each other only then despite already having met and parted in Oz.

There’s not much to tell about Australia from this certain point of view - they have both been there, Max has seen Daniel, Max has sat next to Daniel on the stage in the fan event and grasped every glint and every ray of the familiar warmth and light he has gotten his thoughts around, Daniel has almost forgotten about Nico and Pierre who have sat there a couple of feet away from them yet could have as well been on an entirely different planet as far as Daniel has been concerned. The smouldering desire to touch has been painfully underlined by being denied by reasons far out of their powers - apart from some overly busy, feverish groping in some god-forsaken (and cleaner-forsaken) toilet cubicle in the far corner of the pits, the chances fled them and evaporated in the hot air of Melbourne with their schedules being more than nerve-wrecking. And it has been unbearable, more beyond tolerance than the endless winter months; after almost three months fully apart, three _minutes_ in the same city - in the same space, on the same stage - feels like water torture - drops, drops, drops after drops, being pulled back from the verge of drowning time and time again only to be plunged back underwater seconds later, lungs full of desperate air.

Everything looks different in the soft waitfulness of Bahrain, in the middle of the still-standing desert and watchful ripples of sand-filled air. They have an understanding of each other again, where they are, what they are, of the ways it’s similar and the ways it is not.

Daniel prompts it this time. It’s effortless, going through a molded motion of offering and accepting. Max lies in wait for it like a watchdog on cocaine - has lied for hours, days, more or less knowingly, shifting between forgetting his phone for whole uninterrupted twenty-three minutes to glancing at it every fifteen seconds. It buzzes loudly against the glassy surface of the table in his driver room now and makes him startle first; and it cuts the edges of his senses sharp like knives, makes them scream like he was licked by bright blue fire.

_u got a few minutes?_

Max tries to calculate the quickly passing seconds of his quickly passing life as fucking _quickly_ as he possibly can. There should be enough of them for nothing much.

_Yes, where_

_mine, its quiet rn_

Both blood and sweet adrenaline shoot through Max and settle in the depths of his abdomen like dud explosives, aimed and fired and then left there to hiss and crackle in frustration. It is fucking _dangerous_ beyond measure, _Christ_ , and what he does for a living is nothing but staring death right at its distorted face yet _a few minutes_ of this inflammable secrecy with Daniel feels more threatening than any of the corners, hairpins, tight turns after long straights, concrete walls ready to catch a car in their loving embrace from full speed. There is no halo shielding him from the world outside the two of them, nothing veiling them if caught unveiled.

And it’s all more than tempting - oh, it is so irresistible it hypnotizes him without effort - the promise of a touch he has been craving ever since the last one; desire takes a chokehold of the whispers of danger and snaps them, and the lure guides Max’s movements when he hastily taps _see you_ , puts his shoes on and opens his door, trying to be as silent as he can. There is no avoiding people - he sees one, two, greets them, shouts over his shoulder, mimics a laugh, thinks _why are there people, fuck off_ but manages to slip to the yellow side of the garage wall unnoticed and wanders to where he knows he is awaited. He swears (he knows it is not possible within the limitations reality sets them, but he swears) that Daniel’s scent wafts to him within the flows of air and gently guides him forward like a bait guides beast. It _is_ quieter here. He feels like an intruder, an alien in the middle of all the yellow splashed on the walls - for some reason the colour is restless and oddly tickles his skin. It’s almost unnerving in its blatant brightness, the gaudiness of it yelling to him serves to add another layer to his slight jitteriness over the sin and secrecy he is about to indulge in. His blue shirt is all wrong and unfittingly calm in where he is now.

Daniel has stuck a pink post-it on his door and it says _NO DISTURB_ in unpolished, black letters and exaggeratedly off language. Max disturbs, for him it is a generous invitation - he turns the door handle, it says a small _click_ as a shy welcome, and it sounds like gunfire in the heart of the silence slithering into his head. He glances cautiously around like a bank robber, like the felon he knows he is, and feels Daniel's hand on his upper arm already before he gets to see Daniel's face with his eyes.  
“Quick”, Daniel urges again. Max feels the low growl vibrating through him more than he makes out the demanding word Daniel says, and it all only serves to make Max half-hard already, the sudden rush of arousal initially being almost stinging more than pleasurably twirling. He barely has the presence of mind to close the fucking door and impatiently make sure it is locked before he turns to lean into Daniel's touch proper;

and it would be a sweet-tasting, tender reunion filled with adoring fondles and silky words were they both not absolutely desperate to feel the other's mouth, skin, flesh, everything at once. Simply _touching_ is nowhere near enough, their blunt nails keep trying to carve their way through the other's shirt, inside the chest, beneath the ribs, to the innermost. Daniel slams his mouth on Max's with greed and Max is eager to open up to him, makes harsh, lewd sounds against Daniel's tongue and teeth with his own.  
“Fuck, I just want to fuck you”, breathes Daniel, sounding like it's the last of the air in his lungs. “I want inside you, Max, I can’t take this.”

Daniel is about to shamelessly use Max for a fleeting, restless shag in the shadows, as only a moment's relief in the middle of a stress-packed race weekend, a discardable outlet for nothing much, and nothing could sound more beautiful in Max's ears.

“Sit on the sofa”, Max grunts as an answer, a quick thought, and uses force to push Daniel off him - and it makes his body weep after the touch lost and it makes his cock weep pre-come all the more. The bulging front of his jeans is already proud to present the hot, dark blue patch on it.  
“Shit, Max”, hisses Daniel again and lets Max push him backwards and tumble him ruthlessly on the sofa. He has already tried to fiddle his slacks open a couple of times, blindly and with fingers too feverish for it, really, and he only gets around doing the job properly once Max has clumsily sat him down. They have done it like this and they have done it slower - they have done it more like it perhaps should be done, proper, thorough, thought of, Max being the one opening Daniel's trousers and mouthing both the tenting fabric and then Daniel's glistening cock with a shine in his eyes the intoxication of the cruel teasing always creates there. But now is not the moment to tease or think; the heat of the moment is what shines in Max when he snakes out of his jeans and boxers in one go like every second without Daniel’s skin on his was taking life out of him, as if Daniel was redemption itself, a high incarnated.

“Fuck, Max, I’ve missed you so fucking much”, gasps Daniel, the unsteady words flickering with air. He has already gotten to spreading an obscene amount of lube over himself and trying to keep the movement of his fist as sluggish as he can with his cock already throbbing with ache against his loose grip. “I missed you.”

It's beyond Max to wonder any further about whether _I've missed you so fucking much_ only equals _I've missed fucking you so much_ in this moment and he doesn't care. He has used Daniel, Daniel has used him, they have raked the skin of each other's backs to raw red stripes with strong, slender fingers time and time again, sunk into each other’s bodies with vigour that has renewed and stewed and blossomed in the soil of their mutual, rapidly developed want. Max steps to Daniel and sits atop him, thinks only of him, shackles Daniel's mouth with his own and Daniel's legs with his own. Whatever it is, fucking missing Max or missing fucking Max, it's an absolution in all its gracelessness.  
“Daniel”, he whispers into the kiss - it's like an electric shock every time, the name _Daniel_ , his mouth wraps itself around it so smoothly, his lips twist around it and his tongue caresses it, and he almost never calls him Dan because it means saying the name being over too soon, all too soon. 

Max slightly lifts himself with vibrating thighs and mumbles “come a bit forward” breathily. “You won't hit like this.”  
“You want fingers?” offers Daniel as he slumps a bit lower on the couch - more of a necessity than an actual bidding since there is no way they would have much time to spend on thoughtful fingering in preparation, and their patience is long since outdated and spent days ago.  
“No, no time for that”, ushers Max as he scrambles to angle his arse right. Daniel's cock keeps brushing against the backs of his thighs, smearing lube and leaking slick all over him in a gluey, wet mess. “Let's just- go.”  
Daniel bites his lip to swallow a witty answer and then he bites it harder with a smothered _mmph_ when Max takes a hold of his cock. It's something near routined, there sits the kind of certainty in every single one of Max's movement and shift that tells of minutes and hours spent of the two sharpening them. Max curves above Daniel, lithe like a willow, his pallor tinted by rushing blood, the muscles of his thighs quivering with the strain.

And Max says _nothing_ when he slays himself with Daniel. The sounds of rough, stifled breathing stop for an abruptly quiet moment - everything stops when the only thing moving is Max's neck, bending like a bow; his eyes squeeze shut and his mouth rips open in a mute wail, his chest convulses in despair for air yet is denied. Daniel's head falls back and his teeth adorn his bottom lip. Blood collects to the corner of his mouth he keeps chewing, glowing beneath the skin.

Max is halfway down, _fuck_ , it lacks all possible finesse and requires too much using his thighs to be nothing but pleasurable in every way; but the hot feeling of Daniel filling him overrides the trembling of his thighs and the tearing ache in his body. He drives air into his lungs and feels as if his chest burst with it - he opens his eyes and slowly moves his head to look down at Daniel. Daniel tries to catch his breath, eyes still screwed tightly shut, body heaving erratically. And it momentarily hits Max that it would all have been even easier if they weren’t facing each other, to just sit back and let Daniel spear him without looking, sink deep below.

It would have been even _simpler_.

“Daniel”, he exhales once again, wills Daniel to read his thoughts and catch his meaning from that, that and his trembling stillness only. And Daniel _does_ , he lifts his head from the backrest and opens his eyes to face Max’s. A lightning flashes through Max that instant, a jolt beyond his consciousness; Daniel’s eyes are black and gleaming, his wide pupils suck Max into a spiral he is happy to disappear in, they become the center and border of his universe. This is what Max wanted. To see. To look, and be looked at in return. He fixates on Daniel, eats him away with his gaze, Daniel burns him with his. And he still says nothing when he lets himself be impaled by Daniel to the fullest - he grinds his teeth into the yielding flesh of his lower lip and every muscle and tendon in him tenses and cries with the initial, puncturing agony. The veins running along the arch of his throat tighten like bow strings under pull. But he lowers himself (slow, voiceless) to sit on Daniel’s lap, Daniel’s cock molding his edges and extremities with a paining, pounding stretch and Daniel's gaze carving through him.  
“Max- shit, Max”, repeats Daniel _Max, Max_ as Max slowly leans down closer to him, chest gravitating towards chest, the already ragged voice crackling with tremoring gasps. “You'll be one sore-assed fucker in the race.”  
“It will remind me of you”, answers Max with a breathless, drunk smile. His eyes glimmer witlessly with the pain and fever of it. And he leans to give Daniel a ferocious kiss, feeling like the saliva in his mouth tastes of lust in itself.

Max snaps his arse up - Daniel is drenched and slippery with what feels like everything imaginable and the movement is still tedious at first, the position is burdensome and it makes them both that much more fumbly. But by _Gods_ how good it feels, how right, how meant, they take and sate each other flawlessly, _still_. Max drops down again, pins Daniel to the sofa with all of himself, cherishes the pain of the piercing that still tries to grip him more than fears it. His cock keeps rutting against Daniel’s stomach and leaving clear, shimmering stains to the hem of his shirt, and Max has to halt for a second to press his palms against Daniel’s shoulders when Daniel’s serpentine fingers then coil around it.  
“It’s going- _fuck_ ”, starts Max and has to stop once again to choke on the rest of the sentence when Daniel trails his fist along the subtle upward curve of his cock, from base to crown, from beginning to end to beginning again. “It leaves a mess-!”  
“Don’t care”, manages Daniel to get out of himself, being constantly rendered void of words and speech by Max’s gradually steadying rhythm of rising and falling. And it’s as much an over-confident _I don’t care_ as it is an order. _Don’t care, go_.

Max takes it to heart like a rosary, _don’t care_ , soars and plunges with all of his fraying strength. It quickens then, everything, once they catch their shared tempo again. Daniel’s strokes on Max grow a tad too hasty, as if he had been trying to get himself off in a restroom like a hormonal teenager instead of trying to make Max come all over his stomach, and the rhythm of Max’s thrusts against Daniel keeps lapsing with the slight yet persistent awkwardness of their pose. But it still is nothing but _bliss!_ , heated, brutal insanity of flesh, every single beastly noise their bodies ache to make having to stay confined within, the quiet slapping and stifled grunts and gasps replacing oxygen itself around them. Max breathes them in, suffocates on them as a blessed being. How he has missed this, how he has missed Daniel, in a way they have never even tried to untangle further, simplified and uncut.  
“Fuck, Daniel”, he sighs as an airless, senseless echo of his own words, feeling his legs starting to slacken and chink with his orgasm crawling up along the veins in them, with the fever and fervour pooling beneath. Daniel’s body clasps and waves underneath him and Max knows the reflexes by heart; it’s as if the climax slowly dawning in their horizons had transmitted from body to another like a sly disease, and it makes Max swell with inexplicable gratification bordering on pride.

Max is the first to cave before it. He slams his arse against Daniel's thighs and goes rigid above him as his peak crushes him to pieces - lightnings thousand-fold within him and explode into a thunder rapidly gone - he spills over Daniel's hand, all over his stomach and chest and yellow shirt with clenching shocks. Neither of them can't help a choked groan and Daniel is quick to follow; he lifts his hips from the couch as much as he can with most of Max's limp, spent weight on top of him to thrust into his heat once more before collapsing into a shaking, dismantled heap. Max ties his arms around Daniel's shoulders and leans his forehead against Daniel's, tries to get his elusive breath back and catalogue every single sensation his nerves are trying to channel to him through the ripples of pleasure drifting aimlessly in and out of him. He can vaguely comprehend the slickness of the mixture of Daniel's come and the lube as it seeps from him and drips down his buttocks before smearing over both their sweaty thighs - it's absolutely disgusting, a sickeningly depraved feeling,

and still Max wouldn't want to have to get up from Daniel's hold and clean himself. He stays for one more quickly passing second of his quickly passing life despite his body growing anxious over Daniel's cock still disturbing its depths, and Daniel starting to also twitch in a way that tells Max that the anxiousness is transmitted to him as well. Someone walks past the room, the footsteps resound to them and lessen and vanish. It makes Max want to erupt in a mindless laugh. He looks Daniel in the eye again, traces his teeth over his lower lip and finds himself cracking a smile. _Shit_ , how he has longed for all of it, the danger among the desire.

“You're-” says Daniel, eyes clouded and voice thick with fuck and awe. He then says nothing more, simply lifts a hand to Max's neck and coaxes him to bow down for one hungry kiss.  
“I should probably get up”, whispers Max against Daniel's mouth once they part again, reddened lips leaving reddened lips in a cruel, unwanted parting. Daniel nods, then chuckles - and it's the way his whole essence lights with the wide, toothy smile that opens his mouth that makes Max suddenly feel _warmth_ instead of clean-cut heat. It's the same, it's different. The yellow shirt is trying to make itself known in the far corner of Max's vision and scarcely succeeds.  
“There's-” Daniel starts and then bites his lip again with force and a muffled groan when Max slowly gets up and makes them both flinch and jump with how sensitive they have gotten. Max's legs tremble and sway with the strain, but he can't bring himself to shake his thighs loose - the backs of them seem to be soaked with what feels like everything imaginable, again. Daniel's cock falls on his lap with a vulgar sound and Max feels like every move he makes only spreads the wetness more.  
“There's wet wipes in the second drawer”, hints Daniel and points sloppily to his right. Then he glances at the lube he has discarded on the floor and outs a weary laugh at himself, at them both, at the mess they are. “Prepared for everything like a bloody boy scout. I fucking bought a cooling lip balm in case my lips ended up looking a little too, uh, ravished by you.”

Max shoots a light laugh at him in return and walks up to the drawer, his arse feeling touchy and thighs slipping against each other filthily. He sure is going to be one sore-assed fucker in the race. The image of it feels tinglingly intriguing. He digs for the wet wipes and throws the package in Daniel’s general direction once he has grabbed himself a fistful of them. Simple, uncomplicated. The evidence of their illicit encounter gradually disappears.

“Come here”, says Daniel then, and the sudden softness of his cadence is what makes Max’s head snap up with more speed than he realizes. He looks at Daniel and sees a dreamy, shimmering smile, slivers of gold blending with the black of his gaze. And Daniel gestures at him leisurely, repeating the gentle plea without words. Max grabs the disheveled pile of his jeans and boxers and sits next to Daniel on the sofa. He enjoys the strong strokes of Daniel’s palm on his lower back, the circles it draws and the mellow waves it sends swimming through him.  
“I’ve got somewhere entirely else to be in twenty minutes”, Daniel murmurs lazily; Max knows that in English it means _you’ll have to disappear as quick as you can_ , and he is quick to squirm back into his boxers.  
“Yeah, I know”, he says and his lip and his words crooks with a smirk. It’s a familiar drill, not really having time to spare, and they have shaped themselves around it without question. His jeans feel heavy and the one leg already in them suddenly incapable of carrying their weight.  
“But I-” utters Daniel, falters, and Max glances at him curiously. Daniel shoots an unfittingly confused smile at him from the corner of his mouth, as if unsure of himself and whether uttering anything was a good idea at all in the end. His hand keeps traveling up and down along Max’s spine and the groove it indents on his back.  
“How’s it been?” questions Daniel then, carelessly yet in a relatively see-through attempt to steer clear of something that’s suddenly surfaced uninvited. “Y’ know, with Pierre and all.”

Max stops pulling the other trouser leg up for a moment and turns his stare to Daniel. His mind buzzes with static for an odd moment, tingles with the sudden rush to connect dots. Then he anchors to what Daniel is after, even when he’s trying so hard not to be, failing harder all the way; and this time the upward arch that Max’s mouth creates is wide and mild and pure.  
“Good, all good”, he says first and shrugs, ascetic as always. And then, after a short moment of contemplating, he adds “but he is not you” and means it in multiple, multiple ways he hopes Daniel can grasp.

Daniel returns his stare with ripples of tenderness clinging to his features and to his smile and nods curtly. He moves his hand from Max’s back to his shoulder and lets it freely slide down his arm as Max gets up to zip his fly and fasten the sturdy button. Max looks down at him - fuck, Daniel looks like he is not going to be _anywhere_ in just twenty minutes, his hair is a fuzzy, sweaty tangle and he hasn’t even gotten around putting his trousers back on yet - and Max could stay there to simply stare for eternities, etch the image of Daniel like that into his retinae and keep watching it asleep and awake.  
“Alrighty, fair enough, sounds good”, Daniel answers and bobs his head a couple more times for good measure and means it in equally many ways as Max. Drying stains of come blotch the shrill yellow of his t-shirt. Max feels almost victorious as his eyes swiftly land on them; it strangely feels like he had conquered something and claimed it as his.

“I hope you have spare t-shirts”, points Max and gestures at Daniel’s stomach with his head, not even trying to resist sounding absolutely thrilled. “Or, if you’re not going to change that before you go, I hope you have an explanation.”  
“I’ll just say that I fucking missed you, that’s my explanation”, Daniel chuckles, still slightly weary, and levers himself to his feet from the embrace of the couch with a grunt. And they move like on an unspoken command when they lean into each other for one more rushed kiss.  
“I missed you too”, says Max before he drags himself to the door and slips noiselessly out of the room and into the labyrinth of corridors, leaving Daniel behind to try and find his trousers, and a spare t-shirt. It’s the same and it’s different, all of it; but the words _I fucking missed you_ wallow in Max’s gut in an unexpectedly gentle way, in Daniel’s raspy voice and exactly the order they were said in.  
  



End file.
